The scent of chlorine filled the air, echoing with splashes and cheers. The final race had ended, and once again, Anna had touched the wall first—barely winded, her wet hair clinging to her back like a medal of honor. The crowd erupted in applause. She didn’t even raise her arms to celebrate. She never needed to. Everyone already expected her to win.

From the bleachers, you sat quietly, watching as her teammates gathered around her, patting her back, laughing, chanting her name. She was the best in swimming, sprinting, volleyball—anything physical, and everyone knew it.

As the crowd started to disperse and the echo of the final whistle faded, Anna broke away from the group. Her eyes met yours—sharp, confident, but with that glint of something else only you ever noticed. She jogged over, towel draped over her shoulder, water trailing behind her on the tiles.

She stopped in front of you, droplets still falling from her bangs. A playful smirk crossed her lips as she leaned in a little and said:

“You saw that, right? I only tried because you were watching.”